


On Top

by emmaliza



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: 90s fic, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Barebacking, Denial, Guilt, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Power Dynamics, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 22:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18186746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: There are lot of things at the back of Gary's mind, things he's never bothered dealing with or confronting or thinking about much at all, because why would he? They would just be confusing and difficult and fuck up his career, so why would he do that to himself?It feels like a dream, the sort of dream Gary would rather not admit he has, at that makes it easy to along with, melting into the southern sun and Mark's body all at once. If he keeps his eyes closed it all feels less real, another idle fantasy he'd only flush and grumble about if he had to look the person he was thinking it about in the eye.





	On Top

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by those goddamn interviews I found buried in my likes from the 90s where TT go into kind of a lot of detail about their sexual preferences, which then got weird because I'm me.

It's hot in Italy in the mid-afternoon, and Gary easily finds himself drifting off in his hotel room, sun streaming through the curtains. He's not thinking about much. He's not thinking about Robbie, left behind in cold, rainy England. Off drinking or snorting god knows what or – what is he doing, anyway? It's hard to think about. They're all better off not thinking about it. They're on tour, they have a job to do, Nige always says, and they have to pull this tour off perfectly so they can lead on into...

Gary is half-asleep, and so it takes him a moment to realise there's someone in his hotel room with him. A maid? No, maids come earlier, there's no reason for one of them to be there at – what is it, four, five PM?

Hazily, he half-opens his eyes, and a figure barely comes into focus. “Mark?” Of course it's Mark, cute, sweet, pretty little Mark who checks up on everyone like their mother hen – he probably wouldn't be pleased if Gary said that aloud, but it's true.

“Hey Gaz,” Mark says, that everpresent grin across his face, and soft fingers run through Gary's hair. “You right?”

Gary instinctively nods and leans into the touch, before he thinks through the question. “Sleepy,” he grunts out, an instinctive defense against anything. Mark chuckles. They're all used to him being sleepy more often than not. His eyes start drifting closed without permission.

He doesn't know why Mark is here. They're not sharing a room, are they? No, of course not. They've not needed to share rooms since about 1993. _Mark always used to share with Rob anyway,_ thinks Gary, and he winces, but there's no reason to worry about that now, is there?

Mark gives him a well-natured chuckle, because it's Mark, everything he does is well-natured. “'Course,” he says, soft fingers carding through Gary's hair. The touch is nice, and Gary leans into it, stretching his back like a lazy pussycat. “I was just checking up on ya, that's all.”

There's no reason for it to, but something about that sentence strikes a chord with Gary. Unsteadily, he opens his eyes again, although it takes Mark a few seconds to come into focus – the look on his face bright and cheerful, but a little bit anxious too.

It's not Mark who ought to be checking up on him, is it? Gary flinches with guilt. He hides it well, but Mark was devastated when Rob left, and maybe he still is. They all keep checking up on him, seeing whether he's gotten over it – well, no, that sounds bad, but you know, keeping their eye on him. So why would Mark be coming to his room then?

A noxious feeling settles in Gary's stomach, the lurking suspicion at the back of his mind that _he_ knows the band can't last long with Rob gone, even if nobody else does, and he's only acting as worried about Mark as he is because he doesn't want to leave feeling like he was the one who split it up.

No. No, that's not fair. It's not that deep. Mark is his friend, he's meant to be worried about him, isn't he? Doesn't mean he can't go after the career he wants when things inevitably come to an end, does it?

He's lain out on the bed with Mark petting him like an animal, a rather vulnerable position, but that's okay – he trusts Mark. Who wouldn't trust Mark? _He's probably just lonely,_ thinks Gary, because that makes sense to him – that Mark is the one craving contact even with Robbie gone, reaching out but not quite saying as much, and that's alright. Gary can give him that. He thinks.

Mark's worried fingers keep stroking through his hair, smoothing away the sweat, and Gary likes it. A pinky finger brushes against the back of ear, and a shiver he can't quite hide goes down his spine. Mark laughs. “Sensitive there, aren't ya?” he asks, and does it again.

Gary is just awake enough to blush at that, squirming against the fingers brushing his skin. “You can talk,” he answers, and brazenly, he reaches up to tug on Mark's ear. “You like me playing with your ears,” he teases. His voice comes out all wrong though, it sounds like he's – teasing? Gary doesn't know what he's doing. It's that same old instinct, the need to prove he's not the blushing virgin of the band, although he knows he's not fooling anyone – not even now, when it's been five years and he's had more girls than most men will ever even meet. And yet he's still the blushing virgin. How does that work?

Mark just giggles and leans into him, almost sliding onto the sheets. “You're fault,” he says. “The whole bloody band has caught your fetish by now.”

“I do not have a fetish!” Gary protests, and Mark laughs at him.

“You sure? What about what you told those interviewers, how much you like to... what was it?”

Gary's blush worsens. Right, that. Those interviews were just embarrassing, and he kind of wishes he didn't say half the things he did, but he had to say something, freezing up would have been even more embarrassing. At the time, he recalls Mark being upset at the prying, but he's not acting like that now. _This isn't like him,_ Gary thinks vaguely, but he doesn't want to think about who it is like instead.

“Piss off,” he grumbles, turning his face into the sheets. “They got the weird kinks out of all of us, you have no right to judge.”

“Hmm, true,” Mark tells him, and then Gary realises he is lain down on the bed, curled up against him, face to face like lovers sharing a secret. That's not unusual for them, the world's gayest straight band, but there's an intensity to it when they're alone, no bandmates and no cameras. They're not performing for anyone – except each other, he supposes. “'Sides, I like you playing with my ears.”

“Oh really?” Gary doesn't know what he's doing, but he's always been competitive and he's not going to lose. He leans in and takes ahold of one of Mark's ears with his teeth. Mark giggles, but his fingers grab Gary's shoulders just a touch harder than he was expecting.

It usually works the other way round, Mark pushing kisses on him and him pretending not to enjoy it, that's what they do on screen, that's what Mark's been doing ever since Rob left and took away the biggest target for his affections. Gary lets himself be pulled closer, listening to Mark's soft gasp into his hair that sends a shiver down his spine – that's why he likes to do this, for the reaction, and Mark's doesn't disappoint. Vaguely, he's aware that this is getting out of hand, there is no good reason for him to be sucking Mark's earlobe alone in a hotel room, but it's them, and so it doesn't mean what it should. He thinks.

And then he's suddenly pushed, with a burst of strength he wasn't expecting. He gasps when he finds himself flat on his back – and if Mark had thought things were going too far, that'd be one thing, but the small hands that wrap around his wrists and keep him pinned in place say otherwise.

When he meets Mark's eye, he's grinning, of course, but it looks different than normal – there's a darkness in his bright baby blues Gary's never seen there before, but it's still familiar. “You like this too, don't you?” Mark whispers, and it's like they really are sharing a secret. “You like it on your back?”

Gary is dumbstruck. He does, that's not a secret – he told the interviewers that, that he prefers it with the girl on top of him, like Mark prefers it to be on top of them, Howard prefers it against the wall of all things and Jason just isn't that fussy. It doesn't mean anything, it's just a position. He's lazy and has no rhythm, fair enough right? He felt shy admitting it, but it does not _mean_ anything.

But when Mark's the one on top of him, that changes things. There are lot of things at the back of Gary's mind, things he's never bothered dealing with or confronting or thinking about much at all, because why would he? They would just be confusing and difficult and fuck up his career, so why would he do that to himself?

He struggles for a response a few moments longer, but before he can really try there is a mouth sealed on top of his. He gasps in shock, which is stupid – this isn't new either, he's kissed his bandmates before, Jason on stage and Howard at rehearsals (but not Robbie, never Robbie). But they're not on stage, so this for – what, exactly?

His body gives into it so easily though; before he even knows it he's kissing back, tasting wine and bread on Mark's tongue, arching beneath his body. Mark's hands are lax around his wrists, not that he could really keep Gary trapped if Gary didn't want him to, but that's the thing – he feels no urge at all to escape, he wants to be lain out just like this.

It feels like a dream, the sort of dream Gary would rather not admit he has, at that makes it easy to along with, melting into the southern sun and Mark's body all at once. He's hard within seconds, but that doesn't surprise him. A hand finds his prick and squeezes, kneading him through his trousers – if he keeps his eyes closed it all feels less real, another idle fantasy he'd only flush and grumble about if he had to look the person he was thinking it about in the eye.

Idly he drags his fingers up and down Mark's thighs, urging him on silently, letting their bodies meet hot and wet. It all feels so unreal that Gary doesn't question it at all when his pants come off, something cold is poured upon his prick; of course in reality they'd never take things so far so fast, but this isn't reality, when has anything in this band ever been anything like reality?

He half-opens his eyes and sees Mark reaching behind himself, sweet pink mouth letting out gasps and groans as he fingers himself open. It makes Gary dizzy. Mark remembers the reality, where he has to be careful if he doesn't want to get hurt, but that's okay – so long as he's doing the work, Gary only needs to lie there and let it wash over him. That's not fair, but it is okay.

Mark's hands squeeze tighter around his wrists and Gary's eyes close again. As Mark lowers himself into position, Gary hardly even thinks of condoms, because after all, things like that don't happen in dreams.

He whines and bucks upwards as Mark's tight heat encircles him, swallows him, traps him. The air is full of sweat and sunlight, and a shudder runs through it.

“Is this what you wanted?”

That voice sounds so out of place, but Gary can't make himself care. He nods, and creaking his eyes open just enough, he leans up to nip at Mark's ear again, chasing his needs and not caring who's looking.

Mark moans and leans into it, but he keeps his hands on Gary's wrists, just in case he forgets who's in charge. “Gaz...” He keeps bouncing on Gary's dick and their bodies meet each other in an awkward rhythm, belying both inexperience and too much experience, the sort that doesn't leave you prepared at all. Gary whimpers as that tight hole slides around him, takes him deeper, leaves him trembling on edge. There were things he wanted, once, but none of them really matter when...

There room is full of moans and gasps; Mark's presumably, because Gary can't believe he would ever be that loud. The more Mark cries out, the more it makes Gary's cock throb and pulse inside him; that noise fulfills a craving he didn't know he had.

Mark splatters across his belly with a muffled shout, and no matter how he tries Gary can't say the name he cries sounds like his own.

He doesn't last after that, the come drawn out of him like it was never his to begin with, and he smothers his gasp in Mark's ear, still strewn across the bed and left fucked out, but not so badly so.

Then, Mark slowly extracts himself from Gary, his cock, his body, his teeth, and it's like Gary wakes up.

When he opens his eyes, the whole thing seems to ugly. He's lying in a pool of his own sweat and come and god knows what else. The sun streams through the window and makes him flinch. He – fuck, he just had sex with Mark. Wait, he had sex with Mark? Why? There are so many reasons that's a bad idea; because Mark is a man, his bandmate, Robbie's best friend, so why did it seem so easy at the time? Why did Gary just let it happen?

He's lost and he looks to Mark, sheepishly pulling his clothes back on, not looking any more assured than Gary. When their eyes meet, he bites his lip nervously. “I'm sorry, Gaz,” he says.

Gary stares at him in bewilderment. The wind hits his wet, semi-naked body and he shivers, cold all of a sudden. He gets the distinct feeling one of them has just taken advantage of the other, but he does not know who is who.

“No, it's fine,” he insists, because it has to be, doesn't it? They're still just bandmates, half of Take That between the two of them, and this isn't such a big deal, really – this isn't the thing Gary was afraid would fuck him up forever, and so he could never let himself give into.

Mark doesn't look like he believes him, but he also looks like it doesn't matter – he got what he wanted, something, someone to have chase the grief that's haunting him away, someone worth blaming even if he doesn't have it in him to really cause any damage. Gary might feel used, except he suspects he doesn't have the right. Gently, Mark leans over to kiss his brow. “I'll see you downstairs,” he whispers.

Gary, still a sweat-soaked mess, nods. He wonders what Mark is thinking now, if he feels like he finally got the upper hand, made the one of them who's always made this band contort to his will serve _him_ instead. But no, that doesn't sound like Mark.

But if Mark isn't thinking that, who is?

 


End file.
